Poem: "The Wall in the Room We Shared"
This poem is spillover from the January 2022 Crowdfunding Creative Jam. It was inspired by a prompt from Dreamwidth user Fuzzyred. It also fills the "Honor / Morality" square in my 12-23-21 card for the Story Sparks Bingo. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with Fuzzyred. It belongs to the Polychrome Heroics series.
Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the more detailed warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes foster teens, child abuse and neglect, superpower manifestation, running away, street teens, gangs, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"The Wall in the Room We Shared"
[Saturday, December 5, 2015]
Ferd Morano had grown up in foster care,
and for the last five years, he had been
cooped up in the basement room that he
shared with his foster brother Wil Kwak.
The only time they got out was when
they went to school. The rest of
the time they spent in their room,
"to keep them out of trouble."
The room held two twin beds
with an end table between them.
They each had a folding study table
with attached chair, but the room
was so cramped that the boys had
to keep them folded when not in use.
They covered the walls of their room
with graffiti, but nobody cared.
Wil was actually good enough
to draw characters, but Ferd
could only scribble a bit.
Ferd would lie on his bed
and stare at the ceiling,
wishing that he could just
melt away so that he wouldn't
have to stay there anymore.
And then one day it happened.
"Ferd? Where did you go?"
Wil exclaimed. "I can't see you!"
"I'm right here," Ferd said. When he
looked down, though, he could see
himself but the world was foggy.
He was starting to sink down
through the mattress, too.
Suddenly Ferd realized
what an opportunity he had --
and that it might not last.
"Grab your gym bag and
any money you have,"
Ferd said, reaching for
his own stuff. "We're
going to get out of here."
"And go where?" Wil said,
staring at his foster brother.
"Anywhere that isn't here,"
Ferd said grimly. "Come on."
He wrapped his arms around
Wil and leaned against the wall.
It felt like pushing through cold mist.
Carrying Wil and the bags made it
harder, but Ferd was determined
to escape the prison of their room.
He swam through the misty wall and
the dark earth and up into the yard.
Then they ran like hell for fear
their foster parents would follow.
The house on Stafford Avenue
had never been a good placement;
the Carmoodys had only become
foster parents because they
needed the support checks.
That had only gotten worse
when they had their real kids,
which is why Ferd and Wil
had been banished to
the basement bedroom.
The Carmoody boys were
8 and 10 now, little hellions.
Funny how had nobody locked
them up for being "unmanageable."
Now Ferd and Wil walked briskly
southwest to where Stafford Avenue
wrapped around the cemetery,
where they cut into the forest,
then turned more northwest.
They wove their way farther
and farther from home, generally
heading toward U.S. Route 11.
When (if) the Carmoodys noticed
them missing, the foster parents
would probably search on foot
close to home, not expecting them
to cross a major road like that.
If anyone did think they were
really running, the logical place
would be a bus or train station, so
the boys stayed away from those.
Eventually they came across
a sort of park tucked between
several buildings, mostly paved,
where teens had dragged in
picnic tables, concrete blocks,
and other junk to make a spot
where they could skateboard.
Graffiti on the walls called
the place Clatter Park, and
it lived up to the name as
several people tricked around.
A lanky boy with dark red hair said,
"Haven't seen you two around here."
"We don't get out much," Wil muttered.
"We do now," Ferd said firmly, looking
at the older boy. "This your turf?"
"Part of it," said the boy. "We're
a Rag-Tag Gang, but we get around.
"I'm Craig. Who are you guys?"
"I'm Ferd and this is Wil," he said.
"We could use some new friends."
You could never tell which gangs
were useful contacts and which were
more trouble than they're worth, but
it paid to make yourself known so that
they didn't think you were trespassing.
Craig gave them an easy grin and said,
"No such thing as too many friends.
We're pretty loose about it, but if
you guys need a place to couch-surf
and you don't mind chipping in chores,
you're welcome to come hang with us."
Chores could be anything from dishes
to dealing drugs, from what Ferd had
herd from the other guys at school.
They had to try something, though;
they couldn't stay on the streets
during the week when everyone
expected teens to be in school.
Ferd wished he had a better way
of hiding than risking a gang.
"Shit, you're a soup?" Craig said,
staring at him. "You just faded out!"
Ferd looked down at himself, and
saw that he and the world had
both gone sort of foggy.
"Come on, man, let's
get you under cover,"
Craig urged. "That's not
the kind of thing you want
to be flashing on the street."
Ferd couldn't argue with that,
so he followed Craig into
a narrow space that wound
between the buildings.
"It's uh, pretty new,"
Ferd admitted. "I don't
have a handle on it yet."
"What the hell, Ferd,
we don't know this guy,"
Wil hissed. "What if he
sells us out or something?"
"We have to hook up with
someone, we can't make it
alone," said Ferd. "I know
that much. Craig is clean
and his clothes don't smell,
so his gang must be good
for something. I hope."
Besides, if the gang was
bad, they could probably
get out the same way they'd
escaped their foster home.
Wil looked over Craig.
"Yeah, I guess," he said.
Surprisingly, Craig nodded.
"It pays to be careful," he said.
"As for clean, we've got a flophouse
with running water. No washer,
but there's a laundry sink and
clotheslines in the basement."
"That doesn't suck," Wil admitted.
"We could maybe check it out."
"It's a ways to our flophouse,"
Craig said, typing something on
his phone. "I'll flag us a ride."
"What ride?" Will snapped,
narrowing his eyes at Craig.
The older boy just chuckled
and showed a map on his phone.
"You know how most bus routes
go through downtown and then
way out somewhere? And there's
no easy way to get from one to
another except from downtown?"
"We've seen a map of bus routes,"
Ferd said. "The school has them."
"So it's a pain in the ass to get around
unless you're going to or from downtown,"
said Craig. "A lot of folks hate that, so
there's kind of a network built up of
apartment shuttlebuses, people with
vans, stuff like that. You gotta be
connected so the drivers know you're
not mooching, but you can ride with me."
"That's clever," said Ferd. "So how
do people get connected with it?"
"You gotta pitch in," said Craig.
"Me, I'm a hacker so I fix glitches
in the dashboard software. There's
lots of options, though -- you can
carry stuff, or wash cars, whatever."
"I'm in," Ferd said promptly. "We
could use odd jobs or something."
"If it's legal," Wil said. "I don't need
the cops on me, I don't look white."
Craig nodded. "Plenty to go around,
however you slice it," he agreed. He
peeked around a corner. "Our ride's here."
As the three of them walked to the street,
a cherry-red van pulled up the sidewalk.
"That's Andrew Dunmore driving and
his brother Matthew riding shotgun,"
said Craig. "They're local odd jobbers."
"Works for me," Ferd agreed as
they climbed into the back of the van.
Craig made the introductions, and
then said, "Hey guys, can you
run us over to Minooka? We
want to stop at Saint Jo's."
Wil wrinkled his nose.
"I'm not really religious."
"Nah, St. Jo's is smooth,"
said Craig. "They've got a lot
of community programs, including
a food pantry and a soup kitchen,
but they only preach during services.
They want folks to think of the church
as a neighborhood resource, so they
don't pester and most the stuff is free."
"I could eat," said Ferd. They'd been
walking for hours, and missed lunch.
His belly was gnawing on his backbone.
"We've got granola bars," Matthew said,
handing some over the seats to them.
"Thanks," Ferd said, and devoured his.
Wil even mumbled an echo of it.
"So Craig, we're taking a bunch of
discard produce over to Saint Jo's,
if you have time to help us unload it,"
Andrew said. "It shouldn't take long."
"Sure, I'll pitch in," Craig said. "I don't
know if my new friends want to, though."
This was the kind of pitching in that
could connect them with the local network
of not-a-bus rides. Plus the Dunmores
were odd jobbers, and maybe they'd
share tips on where to find work.
"I'll help unload," said Ferd.
"I've done that at school."
"Yeah, I can lend a hand,
if it's not too heavy," Wil said.
"Don't worry, I'll handle the spuds
and the other heavy stuff myself,"
said Matthew. "There's lettuce too."
When they reached the church,
it didn't take long to unload the van.
After that, all of them stopped at
the soup kitchen to get a bowl of
kitchen sink soup, a dinner roll,
and a cherry nut spice cookie.
It was good, filling food and
Ferd decided that this church
was probably a useful place.
On the way out, Craig pointed to
a couple of statues. "Mary's where
the girls meet. Saint Joseph is
where the boys meet. This way,
we never have to ask anyone
to drop us off too close to home,
and stopping here isn't suspicious
because they do all that outreach."
"Girls?" Ferd asked. "What girls?
I don't see anyone around but us."
"Some of the Rag-Tags are girls,"
Craig explained. "Our flophouse is
a duplex. They have the left side
and we have the right. Basement
and attic are common areas."
"And that works?" said Wil.
"We make it work, and
that matters," said Craig.
"Are you smooth with that?"
Wil looked at Ferd, then
nodded. "Yeah, we are."
"Then come on, it's not
far from here," said Craig.
The boys followed him,
wary but still hopeful.
"We'd rather not break
any more laws than we
have to," Ferd said. "It's
just we couldn't stay there
anymore, and there aren't
a lot of legal options for us."
"Yeah, I know how that goes,"
said Craig. "We do have crooks,
but it's up to you how you want
to pull your own weight here. Like
I mentioned, there are odd jobs."
"That's good," said Wil. "Sometimes
I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Well, that's what honor is all about,"
said Craig. "Being faced with a situation
that has two options for responding, and
the opportunity to choose better than
you have before. You'll figure it out."
Ferd trailed a hand along a fence,
following a line of metallic paint.
"You have some cool graffiti here,"
he said. "That must be nice."
"Everyone has to scratch
on walls somewhere or they
go crazy," Craig said, grinning.
"We did that," said Wil. "Back
at the foster place, we covered
the walls in graffiti, because
there was nothing else to do."
"The wall in the room we shared
will remind them that we were there,"
Ferd said with determination. "That
we are human. Of value. Important."
"Yeah," said Craig. "That's what
graffiti is good for, sure enough."
It made Ferd feel a little better
about hanging with his gang.
"Well, here we are," Craig said,
beckoning. "Home sweet home."
The duplex had clearly been cut down
from a single-family house, two front doors
set side-by side where it probably had
fancy double doors from the original build.
The building was big and square, with
two full stories plus room for an attic.
The windows were all covered with
black paper or blinds, and some
of them also had signs that read,
No Trespassing or For Sale.
They didn't go up the steps
to the front doors, though.
Instead Craig led them
around back. "Always
come in this way," he said.
"The weeds and stuff hide us."
The back yard was almost entirely
grown over with brush, but it had
a little clearing in the tall grass.
At the base of the house, vines
crawled around the cellar doors.
When Craig opened the doors,
Ferd and Wil stepped back.
Craig just grinned at them.
"Don't worry, the junk beyond
the stairs is just for show."
Once they got past that,
the basement was decent.
It had a little sitting area
with tables and chairs.
Salvaged bookcases held
plastic totes full of stuff.
"See, we got a laundry sink
down here, and a working pot
if you need to pee while you're
washing things," said Craig.
"Wring out as much water as
you can before you hang them
on the lines, though, or it'll
take more than a day to dry."
"Okay," said Ferd. "We can
figure out how to do laundry."
"When we have something
to wear while we're washing
this stuff," Wil muttered.
Craig thumped a hand on
the plastic tubs. "You can
look through these," he said.
"Anything someone doesn't want
that's still usable goes down here."
"Thanks," said Ferd. "We'll dig
through those for fresh clothes later."
Craig led them up a wooden staircase
to a trapdoor that let into the dining room.
"We found the table and chairs left in
the basement, can you believe it?" he said.
They were battered but still serviceable.
"The living room couch and coffee table were
put out on a curb not far from here. People
toss all kinds of stuff that's sorta good."
The sectional couch held a black boy
who appeared to be half-asleep
even in the middle of the day.
"This is Dagen," said Craig.
"He's low on energy, but he's
easygoing and good at finding
things. Dagen, these guys are
Ferd and Wil. They're staying
with us for the time being."
"It's nice to meet you,"
Ferd said out of habit.
"Hi," Dagen said amiably,
and then rolled over.
"Anyhow, the kitchen's
through here," said Craig.
"Sorry it's so tight, but
the girls got the original."
"It looks fine," Wil said
with a wobbly smile.
The kitchen had been
cobbled together from
dark brown cabinets and
fake brick paneling, but it
had a sink, a stove, and
a fridge that all worked.
One countertop even held
a microwave and a toaster oven.
You could maybe fit two people
in the kitchen, if they were friendly.
"Can either of you cook?" Craig asked.
"Uh, no," Ferd admitted. "We never
had a chance. We spent all our time
at school or in our own bedroom.
Guess we could wash dishes."
"I'm willing to learn how to cook,
though," said Wil. "Seems useful."
"That it is," said Craig. "I can
teach you a few things, but
the girls know more about it."
"Is that everything that's on
this floor?" Ferd wondered.
"There's another pot under here,"
Craig said as he opened a door.
The toilet had been crammed
way back under the stairs, with
a sink along one wall. You'd have
to be careful to avoid whacking
your head, but it was nice
to have a bathroom here.
They went upstairs, where Craig
pointed out his bedroom, which had
a mattress on the floor and a rickety table
piled with mismatched computer gear.
The other bedroom was similar
but had several air mattresses.
"The one that's already set up
is Dagen's," said Craig. "You two
can take what you want from the rest.
People throw these out when they
get just a little hole, but that's
easy to fix with a bike kit."
"I can take the small one,"
Wil said, hauling it off the top.
"I've got the other one," Ferd said.
Both mattresses fit close together.
"Do we need to mark these?"
"Nah, Dagen won't bother them,
or your stuff," said Craig. "Of course,
that goes for the two of you as well."
"We don't steal!" Ferd snapped.
Not that anyone ever believed it.
"Okay, okay," Craig said
as he spread his hands.
He showed off the bathroom
next, which was a weird green
but had a cool bathtub with feet
and a sort of metal cage that
held up the shower parts.
"The rule is, everyone
cleans up after themselves,"
Craig said firmly. "Got it?"
"Yeah, we got it," said Wil.
"We had to clean the one
at the foster house, even if
the real kids messed it up."
Craig shook his head. "If
there's a mess you didn't
make, come tell me and I'll
sort it out. That's my job."
"Thanks," Wil said quietly.
"Where does the other door
lead to?" Ferd wondered.
"The attic lounge," said Craig.
"That's not divided, though,
so we share it with the girls.
You guys play nice, yeah?"
"Yeah," Ferd promised.
"We're smooth with girls."
That was good, because
there were four of them
crammed on the couch, with
their feet propped on top
of an enormous ottoman
made from some sort
of shipping container.
The rest of the furnishings
were clearly salvaged, or
upcycled with bright fabrics.
A jumble of books and toys
filled the built-in shelves at
the ends of the attic lounge.
"This is really nice," Wil said.
"Thanks for sharing with us."
"You're joining?" one girl said.
She looked about sixteen and
had long wavy black hair.
"We'd like to," said Ferd.
"Well, this is Javiera, she
mostly leads the girls,"
said Craig. "The littlest
is Dambi, with a D like duck.
The older blonde is Treasa
and the younger is Triona;
the two of them are sisters."
"Hi, everyone," said Wil,
and Ferd waved too.
"Girls, these are Ferd
and Wil," said Craig.
"I think they'll fit right in
with our Rag-Tag Gang."
"I hope so," Ferd said, smiling.
"It seems like a good fit for us."
They needed a place to belong.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character, location (Part 1, Part 2), and content notes appear separately.
Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the more detailed warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes foster teens, child abuse and neglect, superpower manifestation, running away, street teens, gangs, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"The Wall in the Room We Shared"
[Saturday, December 5, 2015]
Ferd Morano had grown up in foster care,
and for the last five years, he had been
cooped up in the basement room that he
shared with his foster brother Wil Kwak.
The only time they got out was when
they went to school. The rest of
the time they spent in their room,
"to keep them out of trouble."
The room held two twin beds
with an end table between them.
They each had a folding study table
with attached chair, but the room
was so cramped that the boys had
to keep them folded when not in use.
They covered the walls of their room
with graffiti, but nobody cared.
Wil was actually good enough
to draw characters, but Ferd
could only scribble a bit.
Ferd would lie on his bed
and stare at the ceiling,
wishing that he could just
melt away so that he wouldn't
have to stay there anymore.
And then one day it happened.
"Ferd? Where did you go?"
Wil exclaimed. "I can't see you!"
"I'm right here," Ferd said. When he
looked down, though, he could see
himself but the world was foggy.
He was starting to sink down
through the mattress, too.
Suddenly Ferd realized
what an opportunity he had --
and that it might not last.
"Grab your gym bag and
any money you have,"
Ferd said, reaching for
his own stuff. "We're
going to get out of here."
"And go where?" Wil said,
staring at his foster brother.
"Anywhere that isn't here,"
Ferd said grimly. "Come on."
He wrapped his arms around
Wil and leaned against the wall.
It felt like pushing through cold mist.
Carrying Wil and the bags made it
harder, but Ferd was determined
to escape the prison of their room.
He swam through the misty wall and
the dark earth and up into the yard.
Then they ran like hell for fear
their foster parents would follow.
The house on Stafford Avenue
had never been a good placement;
the Carmoodys had only become
foster parents because they
needed the support checks.
That had only gotten worse
when they had their real kids,
which is why Ferd and Wil
had been banished to
the basement bedroom.
The Carmoody boys were
8 and 10 now, little hellions.
Funny how had nobody locked
them up for being "unmanageable."
Now Ferd and Wil walked briskly
southwest to where Stafford Avenue
wrapped around the cemetery,
where they cut into the forest,
then turned more northwest.
They wove their way farther
and farther from home, generally
heading toward U.S. Route 11.
When (if) the Carmoodys noticed
them missing, the foster parents
would probably search on foot
close to home, not expecting them
to cross a major road like that.
If anyone did think they were
really running, the logical place
would be a bus or train station, so
the boys stayed away from those.
Eventually they came across
a sort of park tucked between
several buildings, mostly paved,
where teens had dragged in
picnic tables, concrete blocks,
and other junk to make a spot
where they could skateboard.
Graffiti on the walls called
the place Clatter Park, and
it lived up to the name as
several people tricked around.
A lanky boy with dark red hair said,
"Haven't seen you two around here."
"We don't get out much," Wil muttered.
"We do now," Ferd said firmly, looking
at the older boy. "This your turf?"
"Part of it," said the boy. "We're
a Rag-Tag Gang, but we get around.
"I'm Craig. Who are you guys?"
"I'm Ferd and this is Wil," he said.
"We could use some new friends."
You could never tell which gangs
were useful contacts and which were
more trouble than they're worth, but
it paid to make yourself known so that
they didn't think you were trespassing.
Craig gave them an easy grin and said,
"No such thing as too many friends.
We're pretty loose about it, but if
you guys need a place to couch-surf
and you don't mind chipping in chores,
you're welcome to come hang with us."
Chores could be anything from dishes
to dealing drugs, from what Ferd had
herd from the other guys at school.
They had to try something, though;
they couldn't stay on the streets
during the week when everyone
expected teens to be in school.
Ferd wished he had a better way
of hiding than risking a gang.
"Shit, you're a soup?" Craig said,
staring at him. "You just faded out!"
Ferd looked down at himself, and
saw that he and the world had
both gone sort of foggy.
"Come on, man, let's
get you under cover,"
Craig urged. "That's not
the kind of thing you want
to be flashing on the street."
Ferd couldn't argue with that,
so he followed Craig into
a narrow space that wound
between the buildings.
"It's uh, pretty new,"
Ferd admitted. "I don't
have a handle on it yet."
"What the hell, Ferd,
we don't know this guy,"
Wil hissed. "What if he
sells us out or something?"
"We have to hook up with
someone, we can't make it
alone," said Ferd. "I know
that much. Craig is clean
and his clothes don't smell,
so his gang must be good
for something. I hope."
Besides, if the gang was
bad, they could probably
get out the same way they'd
escaped their foster home.
Wil looked over Craig.
"Yeah, I guess," he said.
Surprisingly, Craig nodded.
"It pays to be careful," he said.
"As for clean, we've got a flophouse
with running water. No washer,
but there's a laundry sink and
clotheslines in the basement."
"That doesn't suck," Wil admitted.
"We could maybe check it out."
"It's a ways to our flophouse,"
Craig said, typing something on
his phone. "I'll flag us a ride."
"What ride?" Will snapped,
narrowing his eyes at Craig.
The older boy just chuckled
and showed a map on his phone.
"You know how most bus routes
go through downtown and then
way out somewhere? And there's
no easy way to get from one to
another except from downtown?"
"We've seen a map of bus routes,"
Ferd said. "The school has them."
"So it's a pain in the ass to get around
unless you're going to or from downtown,"
said Craig. "A lot of folks hate that, so
there's kind of a network built up of
apartment shuttlebuses, people with
vans, stuff like that. You gotta be
connected so the drivers know you're
not mooching, but you can ride with me."
"That's clever," said Ferd. "So how
do people get connected with it?"
"You gotta pitch in," said Craig.
"Me, I'm a hacker so I fix glitches
in the dashboard software. There's
lots of options, though -- you can
carry stuff, or wash cars, whatever."
"I'm in," Ferd said promptly. "We
could use odd jobs or something."
"If it's legal," Wil said. "I don't need
the cops on me, I don't look white."
Craig nodded. "Plenty to go around,
however you slice it," he agreed. He
peeked around a corner. "Our ride's here."
As the three of them walked to the street,
a cherry-red van pulled up the sidewalk.
"That's Andrew Dunmore driving and
his brother Matthew riding shotgun,"
said Craig. "They're local odd jobbers."
"Works for me," Ferd agreed as
they climbed into the back of the van.
Craig made the introductions, and
then said, "Hey guys, can you
run us over to Minooka? We
want to stop at Saint Jo's."
Wil wrinkled his nose.
"I'm not really religious."
"Nah, St. Jo's is smooth,"
said Craig. "They've got a lot
of community programs, including
a food pantry and a soup kitchen,
but they only preach during services.
They want folks to think of the church
as a neighborhood resource, so they
don't pester and most the stuff is free."
"I could eat," said Ferd. They'd been
walking for hours, and missed lunch.
His belly was gnawing on his backbone.
"We've got granola bars," Matthew said,
handing some over the seats to them.
"Thanks," Ferd said, and devoured his.
Wil even mumbled an echo of it.
"So Craig, we're taking a bunch of
discard produce over to Saint Jo's,
if you have time to help us unload it,"
Andrew said. "It shouldn't take long."
"Sure, I'll pitch in," Craig said. "I don't
know if my new friends want to, though."
This was the kind of pitching in that
could connect them with the local network
of not-a-bus rides. Plus the Dunmores
were odd jobbers, and maybe they'd
share tips on where to find work.
"I'll help unload," said Ferd.
"I've done that at school."
"Yeah, I can lend a hand,
if it's not too heavy," Wil said.
"Don't worry, I'll handle the spuds
and the other heavy stuff myself,"
said Matthew. "There's lettuce too."
When they reached the church,
it didn't take long to unload the van.
After that, all of them stopped at
the soup kitchen to get a bowl of
kitchen sink soup, a dinner roll,
and a cherry nut spice cookie.
It was good, filling food and
Ferd decided that this church
was probably a useful place.
On the way out, Craig pointed to
a couple of statues. "Mary's where
the girls meet. Saint Joseph is
where the boys meet. This way,
we never have to ask anyone
to drop us off too close to home,
and stopping here isn't suspicious
because they do all that outreach."
"Girls?" Ferd asked. "What girls?
I don't see anyone around but us."
"Some of the Rag-Tags are girls,"
Craig explained. "Our flophouse is
a duplex. They have the left side
and we have the right. Basement
and attic are common areas."
"And that works?" said Wil.
"We make it work, and
that matters," said Craig.
"Are you smooth with that?"
Wil looked at Ferd, then
nodded. "Yeah, we are."
"Then come on, it's not
far from here," said Craig.
The boys followed him,
wary but still hopeful.
"We'd rather not break
any more laws than we
have to," Ferd said. "It's
just we couldn't stay there
anymore, and there aren't
a lot of legal options for us."
"Yeah, I know how that goes,"
said Craig. "We do have crooks,
but it's up to you how you want
to pull your own weight here. Like
I mentioned, there are odd jobs."
"That's good," said Wil. "Sometimes
I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Well, that's what honor is all about,"
said Craig. "Being faced with a situation
that has two options for responding, and
the opportunity to choose better than
you have before. You'll figure it out."
Ferd trailed a hand along a fence,
following a line of metallic paint.
"You have some cool graffiti here,"
he said. "That must be nice."
"Everyone has to scratch
on walls somewhere or they
go crazy," Craig said, grinning.
"We did that," said Wil. "Back
at the foster place, we covered
the walls in graffiti, because
there was nothing else to do."
"The wall in the room we shared
will remind them that we were there,"
Ferd said with determination. "That
we are human. Of value. Important."
"Yeah," said Craig. "That's what
graffiti is good for, sure enough."
It made Ferd feel a little better
about hanging with his gang.
"Well, here we are," Craig said,
beckoning. "Home sweet home."
The duplex had clearly been cut down
from a single-family house, two front doors
set side-by side where it probably had
fancy double doors from the original build.
The building was big and square, with
two full stories plus room for an attic.
The windows were all covered with
black paper or blinds, and some
of them also had signs that read,
No Trespassing or For Sale.
They didn't go up the steps
to the front doors, though.
Instead Craig led them
around back. "Always
come in this way," he said.
"The weeds and stuff hide us."
The back yard was almost entirely
grown over with brush, but it had
a little clearing in the tall grass.
At the base of the house, vines
crawled around the cellar doors.
When Craig opened the doors,
Ferd and Wil stepped back.
Craig just grinned at them.
"Don't worry, the junk beyond
the stairs is just for show."
Once they got past that,
the basement was decent.
It had a little sitting area
with tables and chairs.
Salvaged bookcases held
plastic totes full of stuff.
"See, we got a laundry sink
down here, and a working pot
if you need to pee while you're
washing things," said Craig.
"Wring out as much water as
you can before you hang them
on the lines, though, or it'll
take more than a day to dry."
"Okay," said Ferd. "We can
figure out how to do laundry."
"When we have something
to wear while we're washing
this stuff," Wil muttered.
Craig thumped a hand on
the plastic tubs. "You can
look through these," he said.
"Anything someone doesn't want
that's still usable goes down here."
"Thanks," said Ferd. "We'll dig
through those for fresh clothes later."
Craig led them up a wooden staircase
to a trapdoor that let into the dining room.
"We found the table and chairs left in
the basement, can you believe it?" he said.
They were battered but still serviceable.
"The living room couch and coffee table were
put out on a curb not far from here. People
toss all kinds of stuff that's sorta good."
The sectional couch held a black boy
who appeared to be half-asleep
even in the middle of the day.
"This is Dagen," said Craig.
"He's low on energy, but he's
easygoing and good at finding
things. Dagen, these guys are
Ferd and Wil. They're staying
with us for the time being."
"It's nice to meet you,"
Ferd said out of habit.
"Hi," Dagen said amiably,
and then rolled over.
"Anyhow, the kitchen's
through here," said Craig.
"Sorry it's so tight, but
the girls got the original."
"It looks fine," Wil said
with a wobbly smile.
The kitchen had been
cobbled together from
dark brown cabinets and
fake brick paneling, but it
had a sink, a stove, and
a fridge that all worked.
One countertop even held
a microwave and a toaster oven.
You could maybe fit two people
in the kitchen, if they were friendly.
"Can either of you cook?" Craig asked.
"Uh, no," Ferd admitted. "We never
had a chance. We spent all our time
at school or in our own bedroom.
Guess we could wash dishes."
"I'm willing to learn how to cook,
though," said Wil. "Seems useful."
"That it is," said Craig. "I can
teach you a few things, but
the girls know more about it."
"Is that everything that's on
this floor?" Ferd wondered.
"There's another pot under here,"
Craig said as he opened a door.
The toilet had been crammed
way back under the stairs, with
a sink along one wall. You'd have
to be careful to avoid whacking
your head, but it was nice
to have a bathroom here.
They went upstairs, where Craig
pointed out his bedroom, which had
a mattress on the floor and a rickety table
piled with mismatched computer gear.
The other bedroom was similar
but had several air mattresses.
"The one that's already set up
is Dagen's," said Craig. "You two
can take what you want from the rest.
People throw these out when they
get just a little hole, but that's
easy to fix with a bike kit."
"I can take the small one,"
Wil said, hauling it off the top.
"I've got the other one," Ferd said.
Both mattresses fit close together.
"Do we need to mark these?"
"Nah, Dagen won't bother them,
or your stuff," said Craig. "Of course,
that goes for the two of you as well."
"We don't steal!" Ferd snapped.
Not that anyone ever believed it.
"Okay, okay," Craig said
as he spread his hands.
He showed off the bathroom
next, which was a weird green
but had a cool bathtub with feet
and a sort of metal cage that
held up the shower parts.
"The rule is, everyone
cleans up after themselves,"
Craig said firmly. "Got it?"
"Yeah, we got it," said Wil.
"We had to clean the one
at the foster house, even if
the real kids messed it up."
Craig shook his head. "If
there's a mess you didn't
make, come tell me and I'll
sort it out. That's my job."
"Thanks," Wil said quietly.
"Where does the other door
lead to?" Ferd wondered.
"The attic lounge," said Craig.
"That's not divided, though,
so we share it with the girls.
You guys play nice, yeah?"
"Yeah," Ferd promised.
"We're smooth with girls."
That was good, because
there were four of them
crammed on the couch, with
their feet propped on top
of an enormous ottoman
made from some sort
of shipping container.
The rest of the furnishings
were clearly salvaged, or
upcycled with bright fabrics.
A jumble of books and toys
filled the built-in shelves at
the ends of the attic lounge.
"This is really nice," Wil said.
"Thanks for sharing with us."
"You're joining?" one girl said.
She looked about sixteen and
had long wavy black hair.
"We'd like to," said Ferd.
"Well, this is Javiera, she
mostly leads the girls,"
said Craig. "The littlest
is Dambi, with a D like duck.
The older blonde is Treasa
and the younger is Triona;
the two of them are sisters."
"Hi, everyone," said Wil,
and Ferd waved too.
"Girls, these are Ferd
and Wil," said Craig.
"I think they'll fit right in
with our Rag-Tag Gang."
"I hope so," Ferd said, smiling.
"It seems like a good fit for us."
They needed a place to belong.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character, location (Part 1, Part 2), and content notes appear separately.